What Was Lost in War
by Aloix
Summary: Rated M just in case some can't handle lost limbs, death, and suicide implications. {{ perhaps going to make a full on chapter fic of this }}


The sounds of gunfire screamed in the air; thuds as people hit the ground; the land shook as the bombs destroyed it with their explosions; blood colored the newly tilled ground; and cries of newly injured and those who had lost their friends and family brought a new fear to the group.

No one had ever imagined it could be like this. There were those who didn't even make it out of the water. Those who took one step in the sand then dropped. There was so little cover, too many soldiers, and much too many bullets whizzing past them as round after round was being fired from the above machine guns. God, would any of them make it out alive?

It was brought upon them immediately - no time to prepare and no time have the mentality for the sights they saw as the door dropped down. Younger ones were stricken with fear, the mature ones prayed for their dear life or simply gave in to the realization that they would not make it back home and many flags would be delivered to the doors of many heartbroken families. However, they all knew the risks when drafted into war.

Alfred was a younger member in the group. His entire ability to movement froze as soon as the man next to him suddenly fell back - neck snapping back as a bullet entered his head and shattered a hole in the helmet that was meant to protect. Blue eyes once so bright now dulled and widened with the oncoming fear. His stomach dropped and the beating of his heart was the only sound he could hear within in ears. The blonde should have been dead.

A slightly older male was looking out for him. A strong arm curled around the shorter kids waist and hoisted him up a bit so feet would no longer touch the ground. The pale haired man hurried off with him, dropping him down behind the slight cover of machine parts gouged in the sand. The older male dropped down besides him and grabbed his chin, forcing Alfred to look into those violet eyes in a different way then before.

"Pull together. I will keep you safe. But I need your help too."

A thick Russian accent could barely be heard but the surrounding sounds rushed back to him and panicked breathing started as though he had been holding his breath. All the blonde could do was nod and show that he understood what to do. His rifle shook in his grasp and tightening his grip didn't cease the trembles but made his knuckles just as white as his face.

Ivan whispered out a small shhh in attempts to calm him, as well as planting a quick kiss to his forehead.

"You can do it. I will not let anything happen to you."

The Russian quickly stood then, raising the gun against his shoulder and fired as best he could to the elevated enemy. He stood there longer than others would dare to before kneeling back down and grabbed the others arm.

They had to move, they couldn't stay there forever. No doubt they would get shot down if they sat for too long. So the two raised again and quickly trudged through the sand - passing bodies, people yelling in agony if the hit didn't kill them, soldiers shooting, and medics attempting to keep everyone they could alive. Once again they ducked behind a part and Ivan rose up to take his part in shooting again as Alfred still cowered in fear.

It wasn't too long before they had to move again, proceeding closer and closer to the destination of somewhat more safety.

Sand suddenly flew into the air, smoke blocking vision and a force knocking both to the side. It seemed like a close call, yet, upon further notice by the Russian, and as soon as the smoke cleared in the air, Alfred - had fallen of course - but had also lost a limb. There was a grotesque stump where he right arm had once been, his side as well had gotten a tad burnt up. The shock and sudden immense pain seemed to immune the pain for now. He simply laid there, mouth a gap, and eyes non-blinking.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Ivan quickly crawled over, wiping off the sand on his his pants before examining how bad it was. He lost an arm - of course it was bad! Blood just seemed to gush out, there was no stopping it with it wide open. If the kid moved, it caused a worse spray to squirt out of the fresh wound.

Mustering up anything he could from what was on him, he pressed some cloth against the stump harshly, getting a choked out and gurgled scream. God. With that covered, he quickly moved them to a spot with as much cover as possible before he proceeded with the bandaging. Using the jacket of his uniform, he wrapped and tied it as firmly as possible around his shoulder. There was not much to do about the side burns, but getting a tourniquet around the heavy bleeding was as much as was needed for the time.

Alfred could only scream and whimper, twisting and turning as though it would help the drastic injury.

There was simply no way he could protect him like this and move forward at the same time. Either he would have to leave his love to the hands of medics in hopes they could get him out of here or stay with him until one side finally succeeded in their mission.

He couldn't bring himself to leave. Ivan stayed, knees sinking in sand, and large hands pushing down as much pressure without harming him intensely to the bandaged area. All he could do was keep his eyes on him, saying how everything would be fine, saying how when they get home he'd do all the chores and all the cooking, saying how even though he lost an arm he would hug him twice as much to make up for it. Things would be perfect - even without an arm. Keeping him alive however, that was a challenge.

Losing a limb took a toll, and the body could only lose so much blood before they grew into a life long sleep. Ivan did all he could, even added more bandages and used some of his canteened water to pour over the wounds in attempts to clog up the bleeding just a bit. The American just kept bleeding; he just kept bleeding and nothing seemed to help.

Alfred needed a better wrap, he needed better care than on a beach with a horror movie playing in their life, he needed to be out of this war. There was no way he could proceed, even if he soon healed up enough to move, there was too high of a risk for him to die of an infection instead.

God damn, why couldn't he protect him like he said? Why couldn't he had been the one to lose an arm or even a leg. Yet it had to be the dirty blonde would took the toll.

Ivan couldn't keep him calm, the constant movement and heart rushing just made the situation worse for both of them. The panic wouldn't stop the bleeding, even with all the blockage in the way, it would just seep through even more until his entire hand would be covered with the Americans blood.

"Alfred, you have to be calm. It will all be okay. I will get you out of here."

Words took no effect, and he figured Alfred knew he was going to end up dead.

Why couldn't he just calm down? Why couldn't Ivan get through to him? Why wouldn't Alfred just fight against it? Was it because he knew or because he couldn't? Perhaps he had already tried.

The Russian stroked stray strands of hair out of his face and cupped his cheek in his hand, thumb brushing across his skin.

"Alfred…"

A second ago he was still here, a second later he was gone. Blue eyes dulled out completely and his head fell to the side. His mouth once again hung a gap just as it had done in fear and now it happened once more in death. Did he even have a chance? Or had he been doomed from the start?

Ivan couldn't tell him how much he loved him. He couldn't be as affectionate as he had wanted to be. People were already wary of the two being more than friends, and their such relationship was not seen as healthy; they should be with women instead. So they had to pull back into a close friendship to hide the fact that they were more. Because of this damned war he couldn't kiss him, he couldn't hug him longer than a second; they couldn't do anything lovingly towards each other; and now he was gone.

Alfred was gone…

The remainder of the war was a blur. Ivan survived and that was all on his mind. He simply survived to keep the tags of his lost love safe. He survived so when he returned to the states he could do the honor of telling his family. Though, when that was done, and he went home alone, what more did he have to survive for?

Violet eyes welled with tears as he dropped to the floor as soon as the door was closed behind him. Finally he could cry, scream, and just mourn. He held Alfred's tags tightly in his hand and couldn't find the will to stand. Only if he could have kept Alfred at home. If only he had been the one to lose an arm. If only he had protected the American like he had told him. He had lied and now everything he needed and wanted had been ripped from him in the most brutal of ways; he could do nothing but watch as Alfred had died right in front of his eyes.

Then the sobbing paused. Much too abruptly. As he was watching Alfred and trying to keep the wound closed from harm, he remembered seeing his lips move in the speaking motion. However Ivan had not been paying attention. His focus on keeping him calm and keeping him from bleeding out, even as he failed. The Russians eyes peered wide into nothing as he tried to form out what the possible sayings his lips played out into.

Alfred had been crying, pleading for his attention, calling out his name so many times yet Ivan had ignored every single beg. Then his lips motioned into 'I love you' but Ivan didn't hear once again, didn't say it back, and he couldn't do anything else but slip from life then. In his mind at the time, he believed the Americans lips were simply trembling with pain and panic. Never had it crossed his mind until now. Now was much too late.

Why?

The ability to stand came back, the ability to walk arrived, a blank expression on his face, he went into the bedroom. The one he had shared with Alfred. To the side of the bed stood a nightstand. A single drawer. Nothing but some papers and a pistol. He took out the pistol and sat down on the bed, doing nothing but staring at the silver weapon for the longest time before he raised it to his head.

All he could see, all he could remember was Alfred dying and pleading him to listen. Ivan couldn't even do that much.

He cocked it back, hearing the click, finger placed firmly on the trigger.

What more did he have to survive for?


End file.
